


Reaching

by Rulerofthefakeempire



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 4
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, There both sad and pining, a bit - Freeform, but they figure it out so whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:03:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rulerofthefakeempire/pseuds/Rulerofthefakeempire
Summary: It’s like seeing someone brand new, born again in the colors you saw when they were taken from you. He kept seeing it, over and over, the way his body moved before his head had time to realize what was happening. But it was different when it was him, because this was the only bullet that rang though his ears for hours afterward.His hands reached his hair first, and unable to diagnose his own motives he knelt by the body and pressed his nose into the back of Sabal’s his head, just wanted to be close, scrounge at whatever bit of body heat was left. A sob erupted from him when he least expected it. And suddenly he could hardly breath from the horror that this had happened.“Ajay…?”





	Reaching

It’s like seeing someone brand new, born again in the colors you saw when they were taken from you. He kept seeing it, over and over, the way his body moved before his head had time to realize what was happening. His knees buckled and blood gurgled from out of his mouth before his eyes widened, like this was something that had been always theorized but never thought possible. He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop seeing Sabal’s hands outreached, unable to stop his body from hitting the ground, hitting the ground like everyone else, hitting the ground like every solider on the field does. But it was different when it was him, because this was the only bullet that rang though his ears for hours afterward.

And there have been so many bullets, each one digging through him, eating away at something deep inside of him, unbraiding his piano strings. But this one hit him right in the chest, tunneled through him; this one bullet out of thousands suddenly all-important.

He remembered waiting for movement, for him to get back up because surely it would take more than that, more than one measly bullet to take him down. Surely he counted more than that. But he didn’t. He just stayed there, arms outstretched, reaching for something he couldn’t reach. And then the first color came, that white, hot rage, that sense that something has been taken from you, something that you have earned; something that they will never understand.

It hit him like a bullet train, he could hardly inhale for the impact, could hardly keep the bullets in their chambers, like they were rattling off on their own accord. And he could only watch, watch the bodies drop until there were none left. And even then he could only tug his body away from revenge and toward a body that he thought was just a body. It felt impossible to steer, to not be blinded by the rage because he wanted to touch him, wanted to catch the last breath of warmth on his skin.

There were bodies everywhere, scattered over the ground, and he stumbled over then, eyes fixed on ribbon in Sabal’s hair. Every bone he had was reaching for him, impossible to keep form crying out for him, impossible to keep the tears from coming.

“Sabal… Sabal, it’s me… Sabal.”

His hands reached his hair first, and unable to diagnose his own motives he knelt by the body and pressed his nose into the back of Sabal’s his head, just wanted to be close, scrounge at whatever bit of body heat was left. A sob erupted from him when he least expected it. And suddenly he could hardly breath from the horror that this had happened.

“Ajay…?”

The sound was nearly silent, hardly a whisper, he didn’t know how he heard it, but he did, and it punched through him until it reached his shaking hands and he was turning Sabal over, tears dripping onto his clothes. And suddenly he was taking a pulse, zipping down his jacket and pressing his ear to Sabal’s chest. Desperation flooded him, because even deranged and sobbing he knew that this was not salvation. But bullet wounds were things that he could understand; bullet wounds were what he did.

So hands shaking, he tried his best, blood on his arms, blood on his face. He stuffed his own shirt down Sabal’s, and applied pressure to the wound. He wrapped Sabal in his jacket, and kept him close until friendlies arrived, kept him tucked into his chest, unable to move for the cold, willing to freeze. Because Sabal could have everything. Every bullet he’d ever shot, his clothes, his heat, everything, if he just stayed alive.

…

The nurses of the Golden Path were an old and secretive bunch; when they closed the door, it stayed closed. So he sat outside, under the window and tried to listen. He heard nothing but a few murmurs. He tried to help the others clean away the bodies, so many of them were his fault, but they sent him away again, told him to wait by the door. So he did, huddled against the wall, new jacket and old gloves.

It was early morning by the time they opened the door, the soft morning clouds just about to be visible. The head nurse was older than his mother was when she died, washing her wrinkly hands with an old rag. She reached out to him and brought him to his feet, her face lit up but the pre-morning sun.

“He’s alive,” was all she said, patting him on the back, expression unyielding of any other information. The other nurses filed out with their dishes of blood soaked rags and surgery utensils, some faces kinder than others. He flooded into the room like the tide rushing up to meet the shore; desperate to get inside, to make sure that he was still there. And there he was. All tucked up in bed, like he was sleeping, like this was just a normal day. And suddenly Ajay was backing away until his spine felt the door that had been closed behind him.

He felt so intrusive, like he was seeing something private and important. Like this was something that someone more important than him was meant to be seeing. But who else was there? He’d never heard Sabal talk about anyone, family, friend, or lover. He was always talking about the cause, or Mohan, or something. There was never anyone around him but his men. And… you know… Ajay.

And when that hit him, all he could do was feel inadequate. There was no decade long solace that he could give, no reminder of old times. Because a relationship forged in war can only live in war. Even then, he slunk forward, more sheepish than he had any right to be. Because even if he was inadequate, he was better than nothing. And it was war, so maybe a war relationship is what Sabal would need when he woke up. The nurses had left a chair by the bed, a small pillow, but he couldn’t use them. He couldn’t sit there are stare at Sabal’s features, take in his sickly parlor, the way that his strong face looked so soft and unreserved. It felt like it was something Sabal wouldn’t want him to see, something that was too intimate for war friends.

So instead he sat with his back to the bed, head resting on the mattress, trying not to think so hard. It wasn’t comfortable, but exhaustion was rolling over him, like now that they were safe he didn’t have to be vigilant anymore. No longer cold, or panicked, or afraid. Just waiting. Before he fell asleep he reached up to Sabal’s hand, limp and warm, and he brought it to his shoulder so that he would know it when he woke.

The world began to gently swim and he let it.

…

The morning came and went silently. No one came in and no one went out and he didn’t move. His limbs were like lead, strapped to the floor. He had wanted to be strong, wanted Sabal to wake up to see him leading the troops in his stead, not letting the authority slip. But instead, he slept, and worried, and watched the shadows move across the floor. Sabal didn’t stir until the afternoon and when he did Ajay was there, sitting on the floor beside him, loyal until the end.

The first sign that he had awoken was the arm on his shoulder moving, rising up and thudding down on his head, rubbing his hair like he was a little kid. For a moment he stayed still, just letting the quiet moment be quiet, an effort to keep the peace.

“Sabal?”

“Good morning, Ajay.”

Without even thinking about it he rolled upwards, taking the hand from his head and holding onto it, because it felt right. He knelt quietly by the bed, and he thought that if he knew how to pray, he would. Sabal’s face was a touch brighter than yesterday. His two hands were holding Sabal’s and Sabal was looking at him like he was the only person in the world, like he was pleased to see him and hardly anyone was ever pleased to see him. He almost broke down all over again, unable to keep his relief from spilling out of him.

But instead he bowed his head, because he wasn’t used to all this emotion, all this guilt. His grip on Sabal’s hand tightened.

“Sabal, Sabal, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry that I didn’t protect you,” It bubbled out of him, “that I wasn’t there when you needed me. I’m sorry that you got shot, and that I didn’t know what to do, and that you got shot-”

“You already said that,” Sabal interrupted him.

“W-What?”

“You already said you were sorry I got shot.”

“Well, I am.”

Sabal had a strong laugh, that kind of around-the-camp-fire laugh, but it bubbled out of him now like a cough.

“I know.” Sabal reached up and touched his face, strangely, like he was something precious, something fragile. “Its not your fault, brother. Sometimes people get shot, it happens.” Ajay sniffed. “You saved my life.”

Sabal’s hand moved over his eyelids, rubbing at the worry lines on his forehead.

“You saved mine first.”

He didn’t respond.

…

He stayed there for an age, side by side like a war dog, ready to jump in front of bullets that weren’t there. He stayed in the room when the nurses re-dressed his wounds, staring at his hands, and ate when they brought them food, trying to keep as close as possible. Not willing to make the same mistake twice, loose the only person he’d call a friend in this whole country.

The nurses accepted his presence like they would a bolder blocking the path; something to move around, rather than be moved. And he was grateful. He had worried that they would make him leave, tell him that Sabal needed rest, that he would have to huddle on the veranda until Sabal could move around again. But they didn’t. They adapted and he tried his best to show them how grateful he was.

He slept on the floor beside the bed, the nurses brought in blankets for him, a pillow, and some extra clothes, and he kept close. On the third night though, just as he was setting out his blankets, Sabal sighed and rolled over. He pressed his spine to the wall, opened the blankets, and gave him a meaningful look.

“What are you doing?”

“You’re not going to sleep on the floor anymore. You’re not an animal.”

Ajay frowned at him, because the alternative seemed a touch too close for comfort. He made no moves.

“So help me God, Ajay, get in this bed right now or I’ll have you sent away.”

There was a pause, and then he caved like paper in rain. As gently as he could he tucked himself into the sheets, made himself as small as possible. That night it actually did rain, and Ajay watched it from the bed. As reluctant as he was, if felt nice to be properly warm, to feel the soft covers on his skin, the presence of another human being by his back. And after a while he even found it within himself to relax a touch, stop clinging so gingerly to the edge of the bed. And after that his eyes drifted closed to the sound of Sabal’s gentle breathing and the rain hitting the roof.

When he woke up, the breathing was all the same. He remembered the trips he used to take with his mom when he was a kid. They had no friends or family to visit, but she wanted him to see America. She would describe to him how she would wake up to find him splayed across her, having shifted in his sleep. Sabal slept like some ancient thing, like he might never wake up, as still as undisturbed water; in the same position he fell asleep in. Ajay’s arm rested on his head, foot between his, the space between them not too far apart, just enough for it to be shaken off.

As gently as he could he retook his limbs, drew them back into his chest, warm as the summer sun. Sabal’s face, his noble features, his few scars and his hair, they all looked so open when he was asleep, he looked so young. So much younger than Ajay had ever realized. It felt like an honor to see him like this, something that so few ever got to see. His had reached out to cup his cheek; unable to comprehend that he might wake up at the touch. In the quiet, early morning, he traced the lines of Sabal’s face, a reminder that he was still alive, looking better every day, still alive.

“Still alive,” Ajay whispered to him before he got up to leave. It had been too long; he needed to be strong now. For the both of them.

…

When he woke up Ajay was gone and panic filled him.

…

“Are you okay, sir? I didn’t realize that you were ready to be up and about yet.”

The foot solider looked at him like he was one hundred percent certain that he was not meant to be up and about yet. But his authority was nil compared to Sabal’s and both parties knew it. Still, Sabal had bigger things to think about.

“Never mind that. Where is Ajay?”

The Son of Mohan had been by his side constantly, never straying. He had to think that the only reason he would leave is in the case of an emergency. If another situation required his attention then it would have to be severe. What if he had left to go take care of the remaining outposts? Even with Pagan Min gone, the forces were scattered and terrified and prone to impulsivity. That’s how Sabal had ended up in the state was now. His grip on the doorway tightened, trying desperately to keep himself upright through gritted teeth.

“He went out this morning, didn’t tell me where he was going.”

_Dear Kyra_ , Sabal thought, _please don’t let him do dumb things._

“Did you see which direction he was goin-” He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before Ajay rounded the corner, rubbing at his hair with a towel.

“I’m right here,” he said.

Suddenly Sabal realized that he had been holding himself much taller than he usually would and slumped like he no longer had to let everyone know just how in charge he was all the time.

“Oh.”

Ajay beamed at him and slapped the foot solider on the shoulder like this was just how they do things. He looked better. Like he had recovered from his own trauma, like he has recognized that the hard yards were over. Sabal was pleased for him but anxiety thrummed in his stomach.

Ajay helped him inside, arm around his waist, pulling Sabal’s arm over his shoulders by the wrist. Ajay was warm and damp against his side, kicking the door closed with his boot. Finally in private, he considered hissing at him, but decided against it. He tried to take a calmer approach, like he didn’t really mind, like he didn’t even really notice that he had been gone at all. But he didn’t seem to manage it.

“Where _were_ you?”

It sounded tight in his throat, and came out that way. Ajay’s face fell like he was still a little kid afraid of being reprimanded, of making the wrong call, and whatever tension Sabal was holding onto melted out of him. He remembered the feeling of hitting the snow in the skirmish, the thud against the ground, but the sound that rang in his ears wasn’t the sound of his own yelp but Ajay’s. He could remember the sobs through the haze, the feeling of someone clutching him, not letting him go.

“I went down to the water to wash.” Ajay said very quietly, “I thought you would want some space.”

That stung. He smiled sadly, because that was the line that he straddled these days.

“I missed you,” he said, because it felt true.

…

When they slept together, Sabal held onto him, clamped his arms around him and stayed there like he was a statue built around his own second in command. He’d say in the morning that is was the thrashing Ajay did when he slept, and that _was_ part of it. But sometimes it was just nice to pretend for a while that this was something more serious than a source of warmth, a sense of togetherness. Sometimes he woke up and Ajay had nestled into him, for warmth probably. But it was nice. It had been so long since he’d felt safe around someone, so sure that they were exactly who they said they were, that they would protect him and that he would be able to protect them in return.

One of the nurses had realized that they were sleeping in the same bed at night, and had come to him while Ajay was bathing, under the guise of dressing his wound. She was one of the younger ones, gentler than someone at war had any right to be. She asked him if he would like her to get another bed for Ajay. For a second he said nothing, and then he looked her in the eye, took a deep breath, and said “No.”

She nodded like she understood and gathered her things to leave. As she was going out the door she shot a look back at him.

“I think its good that you two take care of each other. You should tell him.”

And before she could be reprimanded for her insolence to a superior officer she left, knowing that he was in no state to follow her.

…

Sabal sometimes looked at him like he was something scruffy, something held together with twine; disorganized, but determined. Everyone else looked at him like he was either a force to be feared or a matter of salvation. Sometimes he thought that if he could he would be invisible to everyone but Sabal, because at least when Sabal thought he was weak, he also thought that he was worth taking care of.

He leant on Ajay as they moved slowly though the outpost, from one end to the other and back, practicing walking, relearning what hurts and what doesn’t. Soldiers came up to them, handing out well wishes, telling them about the Golden Path’s movements, what’s been going on. Sabal gave out orders like he’d been in charge since his first waking breath; even as he hung from Ajay’s shoulder he commanded the space.

Ajay held onto his waist keeping him up, propped upright on his hip. He probably didn’t need to. They were just standing now, listening to some colonel explain some action that was made, its outcomes, so on. Ajay could put him down on the bench; do something else. But it felt good to be seen like this, to be seen by all the people walking around, that he was the one who was trusted to do this, as if to say ‘see, you see this? He chose me above all others. See?’

“Mr. Ghale?”

Two lieutenants stood in front of him, paper in their hands, somehow unable to look him in the eye. Sabal’s eyes slid over for a second, looking at them up and down before returning his focus wordlessly to the colonel. Ajay guessed that that meant he was in charge of this one.

“What is it?”

They shifted between each other, checking nervously that their counterpart wasn’t going to respond first.

“We were just wondering if you would approve our plans to liberate the outlying outposts to the north.”

He felt his eyebrows push together and his mouth form a frown before he had time to control his expression. He had been organizing the outpost liberations from the beginning, planned every assault, and now his men were doing it themselves. Perhaps if he didn’t know how obviously busy he was with something else, he might have managed to be more indignant.

He stared at them for a few seconds and they gulped in unison. Instead of responding straight away he decided to let them stew and leaned his head in to whisper in Sabal’s ear:

“I have to deal with something.”

Sabal waved him away absently and Ajay left him on a nearby bench with the colonel and his cane.

“We’re sorry sir, we just figured that you’d be staying with the leader.”

Ajay looked over their plans, flipping through the pages of battle moves, back up plans, lists of the supplies they would need, the experts they would require in local knowledge, explosives, and snipering. They nervously shifted about on their feet, wanting to fill the silence, but not knowing what more to say. That was why when Sabal had offered to make him a general he said there was no need.

“We didn’t want you to have to worry about the outposts while caring for Sabal.”

It was hard to hear it coming from someone else, especially a subordinate. There was a part of him that wanted to point out that Sabal didn’t need caring for, he was as strong as he had ever been, he could have gone up mountains. It wouldn’t have been true, but he still kind of wanted to say it. Not to mention that it wasn’t like they were married, there were other people who could do the job, he wasn’t irreplaceable.

But he didn’t say any of that, instead he said:

“You’re plans looks good, but I’d like to look over them further.” That wasn’t it. The problems were explainable, youthful convictions with few real world applications. He just wanted this conversation to end. “I’ll call for you in about two days and we can go over them together.”

…

Sabal held onto him like he was making himself the wall between them in the world, chest against his back, breath against his ear. It got easier every night to sleep like this; it was starting to feel like this was just how they had always fit together, since the beginning. Like there were finally being honest about it.

“By the way,” he started from just behind Ajay’s left ear, “what did those two lieutenants want?” He could hear Sabal falling asleep mid way though the sentence, and he was right there with him.

“Oh, they just wanted me to look over the plans for the rest of the outposts before we go ahead.”

And then suddenly Sabal was above him, looming over him, hair falling down over his shoulder, silhouetted in the darkness. Breath caught in his throat.

“You’re leaving?”

His face was clear, features made of stone, unmoving and still.

“Well, not for all of them,” he said sheepishly. “Maybe just one or two.”

For a moment Sabal just stared at him, and then suddenly he took his arms back, rolled over, and kept his eyes on the wall.

“Whatever.”

He left Ajay alone on the other side of the bed and it wasn’t a big bed but somehow they were an ocean apart.

…

He would be back in three days, Sabal had done the calculations, and he knew how Ajay did things. But that was assuming that this was where he was coming back to. Sabal let him go without a word of goodbye, hardly spoke to him, slept against the wall, and at some point Ajay slid onto the floor and stayed there. Sabal wouldn’t have come back to him. Wouldn’t think of it.

He didn’t know what had come over him. He wasn’t meant to be this sort of person. He was the leader of a nation; he was stronger than this, he was more powerful than this petty, insecure person he had become. Ajay suggested that he go away for no more than a week do something that Sabal had asked him to do in the first place. And he had acted like a spurred lover and he couldn’t even relate to that.

Sometimes he wished he could relate to that.

He imagined their lives in the dark, at night, in the early morning, when the light hit him he made himself forget. Tried to leave himself empty, stop thinking about what it would be like if he was full. When his men spoke to him, Ajay was just another of them. When he ordered counterattacks and offensives he stripped himself down to just his basic ingredients, just the things he needed to get this done. But in the night, there were moments when he couldn’t help himself. He imagined the way that their lives would come together, imagined how they would live together, how Ajay would always come back to him, one hundred percent guarantee.

He’d spent nearly two weeks in this place with Ajay, and sometimes he could only think that this was how it was meant to be. It had always been men for as long as he could remember, but there had always been something else to think about, some wrong to be righted, some sense of injustice, something that he had to do. But with Ajay it felt like he was never going to be able to concentrate on any one cause again.

Most nights he just lay awake like he was only able to sleep when he was lying next to him, imagining what it would be like to be old, but old together.

…

Before the door opened the cold was bracing, and getting worse. He could feel the wind coming in under the floorboards, waving his hands over the holes between them from the bed. Snow was coming down outside and there were more blankets in the cupboard but it felt like he would be admitting that he was missing something to go and get them.

Then the door opened.

He could tell it was Ajay just by his silhouette, the way he held his shoulders like he was holding his breath, the way he slung his sniper over his shoulder. He sat down on the bed like his legs could hardly bare to carry him and his affects seem to fall off him like he was shedding his skin, getting rid of his exoskeleton because he didn’t need it anymore. Not here.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, blowing into his fingers in the darkness, trying to warm the leather. Sabal could only sit up and watch him peel off his shoes, strip off his jacket, run his fingers through his hair, trying to work the feeling back into his skull. He had snow in his eyebrows and Sabal brushed it away, hand outreached, always reaching. Ajay flinched away from him like he hadn’t known he was there and instinctively Sabal took his cold cheek in his warm hand to soothe him. In the darkness he didn’t have to pretend that he treated all his men the same. Ajay was motionless until he took Sabal’s hand in his ungloved palm and kissed it like he would have been king even if the revolution had failed, as if he was irreverent, a celestial figure.

In that moment, Sabal decided to show him just how human he was.

Sabal pushed himself into him, all slow and purposeful, wanting to make clear that this was not to be excused. This was not sleeping in a tiny bed for warmth; this was not being carried around due to his wound, wrapping themselves around each other for stillness. He took Ajay by the shoulders, leaning over him on his knees, and Ajay looked up at him, eyes caught by the light. Sabal’s hands moved slowly up his neck to cup his cheeks, his thumb rubbing at the scratch on his left cheek.

“I missed you,” he whispered before leaning down and trying to say everything he had ever wanted to without saying a word. It was as if he had done this all before, it was like kissing Ajay was his one task in life and if he could get that right he could be happy. He had been imagining Ajay’s lips against his for the whole of his life, before they had even met. He had been anticipating the moment when he would feel Ajay’s hair between his fingers and hands gripping the back of his shirt since he first realized what love meant.

Ajay pushed into him, holding onto him like he was going to be taken away from him, pushing up into his embrace. Ajay gently laid him on his back, one hand on the back of his head, other at his waist, kissing his neck like this whole time he had only been waiting for this moment. Like these were the only words in the script he knew, and all the other times he’d been winging it. His tongue moved across his collarbone, sucking at his skin; when his teeth nipped at his jugular a noise caught in Sabal’s throat that he had never heard come out of him before.

Ajay rose above him suddenly; the moonlight highlighting his cheekbones, making his eyes shimmer, and in them was this sort of _hunger_. Like an animal deprived of good food for decades, like someone suddenly able to take a deep breathe of air after so long. And the kiss that came next was nothing like the first. What began as brand new and softhearted was now urgent, and desperate, and wanting. Ajay dove into him like he was the only thing keeping him alive, like he was searching for the meaning of life at the back of his throat.

Ajay was grinding down on his crotch, using his weight to his advantage, nipping at his jaw like he had been waiting for this all the times they had slept together.

“You’re beautiful, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, kissing his hairline like he thought there was a time limit, like he had to get all of it out of him before he lost it again. Sabal felt a laugh bubble out of him, all breathy and certain. He scratched at Ajay’s head, holding onto his ears, and kissing his fore head.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” he whispered back, “You don’t have to go so fast, I’m right here.” For a moment Ajay just looked at him, somehow unable to believe that Sabal wasn’t just going to vanish. But then he gave one final kiss to the corner of his eye and slumped into bed next to him, they’re legs all tangled up. He stroked the flush out of Ajay’s cheeks, trying to soothe him, remind him that they had so much beautiful time.

What had been desperate and urgent and confident became sheepish and young. Ajay held onto his arm and kissed his wrist.

“I love you,” he said very quietly, “I hope you know that.” The laugh came out of him like he was unable to stop it.

“I do, I know,” and he realized that he did. All of the actions, the precautions suddenly made sense to him, the way that Ajay had been willing to lay down his life for him. The little gifts, the support. He didn’t know how he had missed it. “I love you too.”

And he did.

 

 

 

 

Bonus!

* * *

 

_Back at the royal palace:_

Ajay sat at the desk, reading the reports that had been funnelled back him from the reclaimed outposts, the distant joyous cries, the relief that it was finally done. Sabal sat in the bed, reading the back of a book that was given to him as a diplomatic gift from one of Kyrat's neighbouring countries. Now that he was a sovereign the battles were less won on fields than the board rooms. In return Sabal had given his counterpart a shawl made high in the mountains for his wife. Ajay had given him an ornamental bow and arrow, a declaration of their military loyalty. He had been informed that that was his job now. Ruling over military affairs, moving troops around the nation to get educated and keep bandits away from communities just starting to recover.

"Do you want to know something, Ajay?" Sabal started from the bed. Ajay didn't look up from his papers, but rubbed at his chin. He was going to have to start promoting people or else the moment he had to go abroad with Sabal and the whole operation would fall apart. 

"Hmm? Sure." 

There was silence for a moment. 

"I've been doing some reading, and as it turns out, there is no specific passage that says anything about two men getting married." Ajay stilled in his chair, and went over the sentence in his head, pausing on ever syllable to make sure he had heard right. Taking his silence to mean misunderstanding Sabal continued, "I mean, its not as if it's disapproved of, Kyra herself has made love to women in several stories." He was beginning to ramble. Ajay turned around in his chair and stared at him. 

"Are you asking me to marry you, Sabal?"

Sabal suddenly looked at him like he couldn't believe that Ajay had come to that conclusion. 

"Well, I mean, if you wanted to." 

Marrying Sabal probably came with more weight than marrying other people. If he married Sabal he would be a royal, but he'd probably just do the same things. They'd have to buy a new chair. And some sort of garment or something. He had his official military uniform, but he didn't know if that counted. And then on the other hand, Sabal was the only person in the whole world that he would ever even consider marrying. Because, you know, it was Sabal. He was worth it all. He was ready to make any commitment he could, he was ready to devote his whole life to him. 

"Okay, that would be nice." 

"Okay, I guess we'll get married then."

"Yeah." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't have enough money for Far cry 5 and a girls got to console herself somehow


End file.
